


… then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods...

by Ryuosen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Religious Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuosen/pseuds/Ryuosen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has faith, Dean doesn't and both their believes are put to the test when an angel is ordering murders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	… then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods...

by [](http://ryuosen.livejournal.com/profile)[**ryuosen**](http://ryuosen.livejournal.com/)  
written for [](http://baruchan.livejournal.com/profile)[**baruchan**](http://baruchan.livejournal.com/) for the [Everlasting birthday challenge](http://deancastiel.livejournal.com/2807529.html) at [](http://deancastiel.livejournal.com/profile)[**deancastiel**](http://deancastiel.livejournal.com/)  
Genre: Action, Drama, Angst, Supernatural, Horror, Adventure, Gen  
Rating: R for violence, language  
Wordcount: ~ 12300  
Spoilers: 2x13 and season 4  
Summary: Sam has faith, Dean doesn't and both their believes are put to the test when an angel is ordering murders.  
Prompt:  
An AU kicking off from 2x13 ("Houses of the Holy") where there really was an angel--one that had gone rogue--involved in the case. It's Uriel and Castiel's task to run them down and bring them to justice, and the Winchesters are caught in the crossfire. (Highlight to read)

  
_It couldn't be..._

_...Duty... duty would be fulfilled..._

_...Father, may you guide me..._

 

Sam sighed as he finished dressing in the scrubs the personnel of the Providence Corrections Department wore. Well those that worked in the psych ward anyway.  

White pants, white t-shirt, white smock, no lab coat though.

“First day?” a dark haired guy who used the locker next to him asked.

Glancing at him, Sam couldn't see any suspicion in the guy's eyes and nodded.

“Yeah,” he answered and slipped into the shoes.

The man, probably ten years older than him, smiled.

“Great, we really need a bit of fresh blood around here. The over time, man I tell you. Though you look a bit young for the job. How old are you?”

Peering at the man from under the fringe of his hair Sam studied him before shrugging his shoulders and decided to be truthful, “I'll be 24 this year.”

It had been ridiculously easy to get into the facility. Their server and system had the standard firewall and protection but nothing he hadn't been able to crack and here he was while Dean was probably still lying on that stupid bed. Sam frowned at the thought.

“My, my... you're a young one. One word of advice...” The man trailed off, apparently waiting for Sam to pay attention which he did after a moment of consideration. It wouldn't do to make the man suspicious.

“Some of the crazies here will look and act normal, completely normal. They will make you question your believes and whether they really deserve to be here. Do _not_ under any circumstances trust any of them. They are here for a reason!”

Offering the man an uneasy smile, Sam nodded. “Yeah, I'll keep that in mind.” he replied.

Then Sam left the changing room and walked towards the nurse station he had seen on the images he had gotten off a few security cameras.

A blonde woman - old enough to be his mother - smiled flirtatiously at him as she handed him the clipboard with Gloria Sitnick's file for her daily check-up. Sam managed a thin smile and escaped as politely as he could.   

He had memorized Gloria's room number but had still trouble locating it. Only after asking for directions twice with the excuse of being new and having no sense of orientation did he arrive at the nondescript looking door. It was hard to think that a murderess was locked away behind the door. A murderess who was once a hooker with minimal income, a murderess who had killed a man and then turned herself in to the police, a murderess who claimed an angel had told her to kill someone.

Taking a deep breath Sam unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped in.

Gloria was sitting on her bed reading a book - Sam knew it to be _“In his Steps”_ by Charles M. Sheldon - which the former hooker had borrowed from the prison library a few days after her conviction and subsequent incarceration in the psychiatric ward of the Providence Corrections Department.

The sound of the opening door must have alerted her because her gaze left the open book and she faced him with a small smile on her face.

“Good morning,” she said, “You're not the usual guy.”

He took her in, compared her to the photo the police had in their file. The locks were gone, replaced with long straight hair and no make-up. She looked far healthier as well, less pale. But it wasn't just the face it was her demeanor, she looked content, at peace. Sam couldn't fathom how a woman who had murdered someone in cold blood could look so peaceful. At last moment he remembered her comment.

“No, uh, just filling in.” he replied before continuing, “So how you feeling today, Gloria?”

She smiled at him, carefree, friendly and for a brief moment Sam was reminded what the other nurse had told him in the changing room.

_“Some of the crazies here will look and act normal, completely normal. They will make you question your believes whether they really deserve to be here. Do not under any circumstances trust any of them. They are here for a reason!”_

Gloria was probably one of the persons the guy had meant, Sam knew that she had killed someone, quiet violently too and deserved the sentence she had gotten - life. But instead of serving it in prison, she would stay in the psych ward for the rest of her life due to the delusional disorder she suffered from.

“I've never felt better.”

Somehow Sam found it hard to believe, glancing at the clipboard he decided he might as well use the check-up to ease her in the questioning. Not that she seemed particularly unsettled.

“So, no disturbances lately?” he asked.

To his surprise she smiled, laughed even lightly before she answered. “You mean am I stark raving cuckoo for coco puffs?”

Sam was for a brief moment taken aback and had no idea what to answer. In the end he settled for a neutral if curt answer, “I didn't' say that.”

Again she smiled, it reminded him of Brady's grandma who had always smiled exactly like Gloria when she saw the generation below acting the way that they used to act and remembered it in hindsight – the kind of smile that implied knowledge, experience and age. Sam certainly didn't expect that kind of reaction.

“It's all right. I know what people must think.” she continued when Sam didn't speak, not sounding offended at all. Perhaps there was no need for carefully inching closer to his goal? Maybe he should just ask?

“What do you think?”

She had set her book down, the pages still open on her lap, for the moment forgotten. Her hands resting on her knees. Barely a moment passed before she answered, “I think what I saw was real.”

He regarded her for a moment before snapping the clipboard shut. Gloria's room was bare safe for her bed, a nightstand and a single chair which was most likely used by the therapists and nurses. Sitting down he put the clipboard on the floor and regarded her with an intensity that seemed to surprise her because when he spoke, “I'd like to know what you saw.” She didn't answer his question.

Instead she said, “It was all over the news. I stabbed a man in the heart.”

It didn't deter Sam however, he could work with that, “Why would you do that?”

Now it was her turn to watch him, her gaze intense and serious. Then her lips parted and she spoke, “Because it was God's will.”

Sam had read the police reports, knew that she like another man before her had stabbed a man to death before turning herself in. In her statement she had said an angel had told her to kill the man. An angel, it was no wonder she had ended up in the psych ward of the prison instead of a cell. Not that this was much better. Perhaps it really was a delusion but then what about the other man? He had to know.

“Did God talk to you?”

His question made her laugh softly and she smiled before replying, “No. I get the sense God's a little busy for house calls,” then her voice was serious once more, “No, he, he sent someone.”

“Someone?”

And yes, Sam couldn't keep the skeptical tone out of his voice, but Gloria didn't appear to be offended, or ruffled really. He wondered if the calm appearance was real or if she was merely a good actor. However taking in her warm expression, the gentle smile playing around her lips and the contentedness in her eyes he thought the former was more likely.  

“An angel. It came to me in this beautiful white light, and it filled me with this feeling. It's, it's hard to describe.” she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders slightly.

“And this angel...” Sam left the sentence unfinished, encouraging the brunette to keep talking. Perhaps she was even glad to talk without the people looking at her like she was loony and indeed Gloria finished the sentence for him, “...spoke God's Word.”

“And the Word was to kill someone?” he couldn't help but ask. He'd read the bible after all and knew what the word of God was - _Thou shalt not kill_. He could see how Gloria's hand, the one not holding the book, clenched and for moment he had the impression that she was gripping something in her mind. Maybe even the knife she had used to kill the man.

“I know, it sounds strange. But what I did was very important. I helped him smite an evil man. I was chosen. For redemption.”

There was conviction in her voice now, and Sam could only imagine what she believed she would need redemption for. Being a hooker was probably not the best occupation for a devoted woman but it couldn't be the reason she so desperately sought redemption. There was something else, but it probably wasn't relevant to their case and he ignored the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Dean which muttered something about girly talk and growing a vagina. He needed more information.

“This man you stabbed, did the angel give you his name?”

Gloria shook her head, her calmness having faded, “No, he just told me to wait for the sign. And the very next day I saw it, right beside the man's doorway. And I knew.”

A sign right next to the man's doorway. Well that was something to work with. Perhaps she knew why the man had to die.

“Why him?”

She shrugged again, “I just know what the angel told me: that this man was guilty to his deepest foundations. And that was good enough for me.”

'Faith' Sam thought, it had been a long time since he had met someone with faith as deep as Gloria's. In the world of hunting, faith rarely had a place. He couldn't imagine that Dean prayed regularly like he did. Perhaps Bobby? No, Bobby certainly didn't pray.

Gloria was still looking at him, her expression once more peaceful and Sam knew he wouldn't get anymore out of her. Grabbing hold of the clipboard again, he asked the remaining questions. When he finished she bid him farewell and turned back to her book which had been lying on her lap the whole time.

Bidding her a polite goodbye as well, Sam left the room and locked it. Leaning against it, he exhaled noisily. The conversation definitely hadn't gone as expected. He had come here to disapprove the notion that an angel was at work and all he had gotten was another person with unshakable faith.

At least they now knew about the signs. He would have to tell Dean about it.

Brushing his hair from his eyes, Sam frowned. There on the other side of the corridor stood a little girl. Sam blinked but the girl was still there. What was she doing here? She couldn't be older than six maybe seven. Her hair was blonde, done in pigtails and she was wearing a yellow dress with long sleeves, white socks and little blue sneakers. No jacket.  

Looking around Sam searched for a parent but he couldn't see anyone. However next to the girl was a door to another patient's room...

For a moment he thought about going to the girl and asking here where her parents were as he heard a voice calling him.

“Ahh the newbie...”

It was the man with whom he had changed earlier. He was smiling and waving his hand, the other held a identical looking clipboard as the one in his hands. When he reached Sam, he was clapping him lightly on the shoulder as if they had known each other for years instead of minutes.

“So how was the first patient?” he inquired while he was leading Sam away from Gloria's room. For a few moments, Sam wondered whether he should protest the treatment but then decided that making waves was more risky and let himself get dragged towards the nurse station. He could feel the girl's gaze following him but when he turned around she was gone.

“What is it?” the man, Matt as he had introduced himself as, asked.

“The girl's gone?” he said disbelievingly, eyes following the corridor as it led into a dead end. They were walking into the other direction and he hadn't heard a sound of a door opening either?

Then Matt turned around as well, “Girl?? Buddy which nutter did you have as first patient? The crazies here don't get any visitors. So no little girl here, I assure you,” he then proceeded to take the chart from Sam and flipped it open, “Blimely, they gave you the religious hooker! No wonder you're so spooked. She's one of the few here who's glad about it. Total nutjob... C'mon I'll buy you a coffee. Get your nerves settled.”

With that Sam let himself get dragged away from the corridor into the canteen where the overzealous man bought him lunch and chattered about the other patients. By the time Sam managed to make his getaway, he had all but forgotten about the little girl in the corridor.

Someone would not.

Gloria would not.

After the nurse, for once young and attractive, had left she had turned back to her book. Yet the words were blurry and she shut it after a few seconds.

It had been nice, she mused.

The man had listened to her, really listened to her and of course there had been skepticism, she hadn't expected anything less. Yet in the end he had believed her, had really believed her. Now she really felt content. She'd been at peace after she had killed the man, when she had turned herself in, when the doctors declared her mentally unstable and when the judge had sentenced her to a life in the psych ward, but now she could live with the knowledge that she had not only smote a killer but that someone out there believed her.

The notion alone made her smile.

“Gloria Sitnick...”

Startled she turned towards the door, she could have sworn she hadn't heard it open, and met the intense stare of green eyes, totally out of place on the innocent youthful face of the small girl whom they belonged to. There was something about the child...

“...we need to talk.”

Gloria barely felt as her book hit the ground with a thud. She wasn't sure what happened afterwards but one thing was certain. Her faith had never been misplaced. Then tears began to fall and she sobbed into her hands. Guilt, remorse - and Gloria took the first steps towards true redemption.

 

_...it hadn't be as productive as hoped..._

_Yet now it was certain..._

_Now to follow...it shouldn't have hurt..._

 

Sam sighed as Dean walked up the steps leading to Carl Gully's house and pointed towards the supposed sign. It was an angel, a Christmas angel to be exact. Was Dean right, was that the sign Gloria had seen which had told her that Carl Gully was her target?

“Well, I think I learned a valuable lesson: Always take down your Christmas decorations after New Year's, or you might get filleted by a hooker from God. Ha.”

Shaking his head Sam sighed, exasperated. Dean couldn't take anything concerning God serious for whatever reason.

“I'm laughing on the inside.” he replied a few moments later as Dean was already standing next to him again. Looking at the house, at the now dead flowerbeds, the door were quite a few old newspapers were lying and finally the the fence and the gate which probably led to the backyard.

_Maybe..._

He moved the gate, it opened with a screeching noise, and walked into the backyard. Behind the house he found a storm cellar secured with three rusty old padlocks. Talking about overkill, but...

“You know, Gloria said the guy was guilty to his deepest foundations.”

Sam was already searching in his pockets for his tools to pick the locks when Dean spoke, “You think she literally meant the foundation?”

Feeling the familiar form of a lock pick he just nodded and set to work. Although all three appeared to be rusty, they must have been unlocked often enough because he had no problems in opening them. Not even five minutes later the latch to the cellar was open and they got down. Dean went first with Sam behind him.

He checked their surroundings again before he followed his brother and twitched slightly. For a mere second he could have sworn a little girl from the hospital had looked at him from inside the house next to Carl Gully's. Yet after he blinked there was no one. Shaking his head he hurried after Dean. They had a theory to confirm.

Unseen above, the little girl stood inside the house formerly belonging to Carl Gully. Her gaze resting on the two men in the cellar. She knew they would need help. Crouching down she sent a small tremor through the foundations and watched with satisfaction as parts of the mortar gave in.

“Now they'll find you,” she told the translucent form which had formed to her right, malevolent aura already gathering, “now rest!”

And with that she touched the form. The formless being screeched before dissolving into nothingness. Nodding to herself, she turned her eyes back to the two men in the basement. They had found what they were looking for, the shovels digging up the ground. She knew already what they would find.

_Clever... to use a spirit.._

Her brother had been clever but he couldn't hide anything from their father. To think that one of their own had dared to use their Father's faithful believers. Now his fate was sealed. It shouldn't hurt as much as it did but following the devil, following Lucifer had only two possible outcomes - either you became a demon or were killed.

Still he had been more than a mere brother - a comrade and a friend.

She clenched her vessel's short fingers. It was still uncomfortable, constrictive inside the tiny body. Now her brother was her enemy and she would kill him. Her superior had been quite clear on the issue, those who followed Lucifer were to be erased and she would do her duty as her Father had commanded it.

Yet - only to herself - she wondered why her Father had chosen her for the mission. Why not her superior or a complete garrison?

It mattered not, his order was her command and the result would still be the same.

There were no traces of her brother here, so he had acted through the ghost in this case as well. Unfortunately with the murdered girl's spirit present it was impossible to follow the other ghost to its bones. She couldn't lay to it rest.

It was unsettling in a way she was unaccustomed to, her mission was to find and punish her brother and not to bring rest to the malevolent ghost he was using.

However thinking of the man and the faithful woman who had cried bitter tears, deeply wounded that someone had used her to accomplish murder, made her stop. They were not without hope, she knew Gloria's remorse to be genuine and could think of nothing which should ban the faithful woman from paradise. Their Father had once told them to worship humanity so taking care of the ghost would help them and the ghost would most certainly lead her to her brother, of that she was certain.

Carl Gully on the other hand, and here she allowed herself to breath aloud, was a sinner who had felt no remorse for the women he had kidnapped, raped and killed. She knew his soul was not resting in the fields of the Lord but was strapped on a rack in Hell. A fitting punishment, after all Carl Gully had strapped his victims on tables as well, had delighted in their terror and helplessness before torturing them in the basest of ways and killing them. While it hadn't been up to Gloria to decide his fate, Carl Gully had gotten what he deserved.

At the sound of a lock clicking open, the girl turned around and watched the front door. She could see the bulk of the man who had seen her earlier at the detainment facility. His name was Sam Winchester and he was unlike any man she had ever seen or met in the times she had used a vessel on earth. He was a huntsman or the current equivalent of it, a hunter. One of the few humans who knew about demonic and otherworldly beings.

She hadn't understood at first, the man was tainted. Thick, viscous and dark as tar flowed the demon blood through his veins. It didn't make sense that he would hunt and kill his kin. Why would he hunt? She didn't dare to look into his soul but refrained from smiting him.  Abomination or not, it wasn't her place to pass judgment - that was the Lord's privilege alone and if her father allowed the man to live, then surely there would have to be something redemptive about him.

When the front door opened she was already gone. Maybe she could find further proof of her brother's presence if she circled the town again. Though this time she would search more thoroughly.

 

_She would find him..._

_… there was no alternative..._

 

Hours later after Sam had finally fallen asleep, Dean found himself wide awake. Sitting up he glanced at his younger brother whose face was hidden by that ridiculous girly hair. _It's sure time for a haircut Sammy_ , he thought before grabbing the silver flask from the nightstand. Taking a healthy swing, he screwed the lid back on and put the flask down. He could just imagine Sam's bitchface when he discovered that his older brother drank even in the middle of the night. But that was Sammy.

But he was for once not the reason he couldn't sleep nor were it his father's last words about Sam.

No it was the _fucking_ case that kept him up and he couldn't wait to finish it.

Casting another glance at Sam he successfully resisted the urge to drink from the flask again. He couldn't believe that Sam would even entertain the notion that an angel was at work here. Dean snorted and laid back down.

An angel, yeah sure...

Those didn't exist because if they did why had their mother been burned on the ceiling? She had always told him that angels were watching over them. What a load of bull that had been. Tomorrow they would find out what being was responsible for this and then this whole hunt was over and soon forgotten. Dean couldn't wait for the moment to come.

Groaning the turned around again, the machine for the magicfingers catching his eyes. How relaxing that would be now but no, first off he didn't have anymore quarters and secondly he would probably wake the Sasquatch. No, no need to interrupt Sam's beauty sleep. Turning onto the side, he resolutely closed his eyes and evened his breathing out. He hated meditation but it was an effective way to relax and he always fell asleep doing it. So he could count on going to sleep.

_Inhale... exhale.._

.. letting his thoughts loose...

He saw his mother, saw her in her nightgown when she tucked him in at night, after his dad had read him a story. Holding Sam in her arms and singing his little brother a lullaby. and on his forehead.

“ _Good night love,_ ” he would still feel her kiss and then she would whisper, _“and no worries angels are watching over you..”_ Then he would sleep without worries.

It was a thing of the past. Their mum was long dead, their dad too and the monster that had killed them wasn't but they would get that son of a bitch. One day they would get him. Dean didn't know when or where but he knew the day was fast approaching. With those thoughts in mind he finally fell into a restless sleep.

 

_… she had been too late..._

_... no one was allowed..._

_… to misuse their Father's name..._

_… especially no traitor like Uriel..._  


  


The sun was already shining through the cheap curtains when Sam finally woke. A glance at the clock told him that it was already nearing midday. Boy they both hadn't slept that long in quite a while, a turn to the right showed Dean still dead to the world, but it wasn't overly surprising. They had spent the whole of yesterday searching the house of Carl Gully for a clue as to what was responsible for his murder.

Of course, they had found nothing useful with the exception of three skeletons and here Sam was sure that it was only the tip of the iceberg. Glancing at Dean he decided that an investigation into disappearances was certainly warranted considering what they had found in Carl Gully's house.

After getting dressed, Sam left Dean a short message, grabbed the car keys and left for the college campus. Gully had worked on campus in the library. With luck he would find out what he wanted at the library and if not he could still use the computers and internet to search through the missing person database. It wouldn't help their case directly but at least they would know whether the angel was targeting innocent persons at random or really struck down the guilty.

Not that the bodies in Carl Gully's storm cellar were helping his case.

He locked the door to their room and left the motel. He had a few things to prove. Already deep in thoughts Sam didn't notice that Dean had woken with the closing of the door, nor did he hear him call.

Dean grumbled as he watched the Impala roll out of the parking lot and drive away. Sam should know better than to take his baby and drive her fuck knows where. On the other hand it meant that the Sasquatch had an idea and was pursuing it. So what could he do -  his eyes wandered back to the controller for the Magicfingers - before he shook his head.

Damn quarters!

Alright an alternative then, a shower first and then he would check the police radio. Yes, that was a good plan. They would need to know if their break-in in Gully's house had been noticed yet and more importantly if he had been seen and recognized while he had been outside yesterday. Hopefully the motel offered at least an acceptable amount of hot water. Considering the Magicfingers, he might even get lucky.

He was indeed lucky, the bathroom had been in excellent condition and the water had been hot throughout his rather long shower. Now dressed in fresh clothing and hair toweled dry, he had fetched their radio from the duffel and was tuning in on the local police force. It took a few minutes. The last time they had used it had been a few states away. But finally he got access to what he wanted.

“We got sight of the 2810 from Pontiac, Illinois. She has been sighted at the campus..”

Dean tuned out after he heard the first sentence. It took a moment before he identified 2810 as a missing person and since she had been seen it couldn't have to do with their case and was therefore not important as the news that another guy turned himself in because an angel had told him to murder a man. Now that had was definitely connected to their case.

Hastily he grabbed the pen and note pad Sam had left on the table and scribbled the victim's address down. Now that were news his little brother ought to hear and they might just have a new lead. Pinning the paper to the mirror, he took the radio in hand again, maybe they would have more interesting information for them.

Meanwhile in front of the third victim's house stood a little girl with blonde hair down in pigtails and a yellow dress. The cold wind was blowing the hair in her face but she ignored it. The cold didn't bother her. Instead she crossed the street and walked away from the house. It was the same procedure as with the first two victims. Uriel hadn't been here in person, he had once more used the restless spirit and by now she had a pretty good picture of how it operated.

The victims weren't picked at random, no the ghost knew their darkest sins. The men had few interests in common with each other and even fewer with their murderers but one interest all of them shared.

Faith and belief...

Something that could be expressed at church and as it was they all belonged to the same church - Our Lady of the Angels. She knew she had found the connection. Now she would find the ghost's grave and wait until it appeared.. “There she is!”

Turning around she was confronted with three humans in uniform. Looking inside their minds she discovered they were police officers - men who enforced the human law. They were searching for the missing Claire Novak - her current vessel.

Inside her vessel Castiel frowned. Taking a vessel had been trouble, upon reaching earth she had discovered that her ideal bloodline had died out. So she had been forced to find another family where her chosen blood was still present. After some search she had discovered two potential vessels - an older man and his young daughter. Though their blood was strongly watered down. She had chosen the female vessel because her soul had been more approachable and as time was of essence the rest of the situation hadn't mattered much to her or Heaven's goal. Something she now regretted because unlike many centuries ago humanity had evolved greatly and with them the care of their young.

Frowning at the officers who spoke to her, Castiel knew he would have to return the younger vessel or risk running in more complications like Uriel noticing her presence. A situation she had been most careful of by warding her vessel with angelic symbols. She could take care of the officers and even take their memories but the next time someone saw her vessel the situation would be repeated. No, it was best to return the girl and take the father. He was a man of faith as well, it shouldn't be much more problematic than attaining Claire Novak's permission.

With but a thought all men collapsed onto the ground like puppets with cut strings. She then proceeded to remove each of their memories before transporting back into their vehicle.

 

_Now to return her vessel..._

and gain a new one..

 

Sam fumed he carried the paperback with the materials for the séance into the church. Of all things Dean could have made him do, it was to summon the restless ghost. It couldn't be a ghost despite the proof Dean had shown him.

Not that the wormwood wasn't definite proof, he conceded because there was nothing Sam could say about it. Even before he had left, he had always been the one to do research and he knew enough about signs of restless ghosts. Wormwood belonged to them, hands down. So he was here, conducting a séance to either prove that Dean was right or he wasn't.

Carefully he arranged the white candles in a circle with the black one to the right. The bowls with the herbs were assembled and within reach. It was time to get the whole show on the road. Opening the journal he read the summoning rites once, twice before he was confident that he could pronounce everything correctly.

Taking a deep breath, he began to recite the rites, never hearing the footsteps coming from the direction of the church.

The new vessel felt just as odd as the other one and he didn't mean the different height, weight or shape for it made no difference to his own being. No, this vessel was more comfortable, not as restrictive as the young one but still too tight, too foreign. Yet again he couldn't access the vessel's memories, the blood still too diluted, although a little less than that of the daughter..

Gaining permission had taken more time than anticipated. The man, Jimmy Novak, had been distrusting and had refused to believe. He would not fault Jimmy for it. As he had discovered humans cared much more about their children nowadays and his worry for his flesh and blood was commendable. Besides he had been forced to take the presence of Amelia Novak, the wife of Jimmy and mother of Caire, into account. She was far less faithful. Instead she had attempted to calm her vessel, clearly believing Claire to be mentally ill.  

As time was of essence she had manifested the shadows of her wings before speaking to Jimmy Novak. He had been less elated than anticipated though it could be forgiven in the light of his worry for his offspring. In the end he had agreed under the conditions that he wouldn't use Claire as a vessel ever again and that his family was taken care of. Castiel had been less than pleased with the restrictions forced upon him, however considering how unlikely it was that he would need another vessel in either Jimmy or Claire Novak's lifetime, he had agreed. With Jimmy's permission given he had wasted no time and changed host as soon as he could. After the change was complete Amelia had rushed for her daughter before speaking with him about getting Claire to a hospital, obviously thinking him to be her husband.

“I'm not your husband,” he'd answered before he had spread his wings and flown away, leaving a stupefied Amelia behind. With but a twist of his thoughts he arranged for their financial situation while he had possession of Jimmy. Angels always kept their promises.

He'd nearly reached the church when he had felt the traitor's presence somewhere to the north. Immediately he had halted and flown towards the new destination. Landing seconds too late, Uriel's presence already fading, Castiel only saw as a man was impaled by a pipe  which had fallen from a truck. Assessing the situation for a few moments he decided that the man must have been another target of the ghost. Either Uriel hadn't wanted loose ends and killed the man or perhaps their Father had interfered, Castiel didn't know.

The man watching however, Castiel knew. His name was Dean Winchester, one of the three sons of the righteous man, John Winchester. Intrigued why he would be present, Castiel glanced over the surface memories and pulled back abruptly. The younger brother was calling the ghost!

Now Uriel might have been his brother, his comrade and certainly Castiel had never expected him to betray them or their Father, but he had never made a secret of what he thought of humans or mud-monkeys as he called them. If Sam Winchester was seeking to undo Uriel's work, he might as well be in danger of being struck down. Uriel would surely sense the taint as he had done and have no qualms about killing him.

He needed the location now, even if it meant to abandon his advantages. Detecting Uriel was no small feat. Despite his wrathful, aggressive and rather blunt nature, he was just as skilled at staying hidden and had taken great care to stay hidden. Otherwise he wouldn't have manipulated a ghost into doing his foul deeds. Then he felt Uriel's presence, carefully hidden from prying eyes, at what he determined to be the church. Spreading his wings Castiel sped towards his Father's holy ground. Uriel's games would end now.

Dean was sitting on his bed in the motel, drinking and waiting for Sam to return when the call came. Grunting something, he screwed the lid back on and answered the phone, “Yeah?”

“Mr. Kirk? This is nurse Harris from the Rhode Island Free Clinic. You are listed as the emergency contact of Sebastian Mulder. Is that correct?”

For a moment everything froze and all Dean heard was the sound of blood rushing through his ears pounding, before he remembered to answer, “Yeah, Sebastian Damien Mulder born on 03.29.1983 and far too tall for a normal human being. He's my half-brother.”

He could hear the slight stifled giggle over the line before the nurse spoke again, “Mr. Kirk your brother was admitted last night with severe burns and a crushed larynx. We got him out of surgery... ” and she didn't get any farther before Dean interrupted her, “I'm on my way...”

Hanging up he grabbed the car keys and was out of the door. The tires of the Impala screeched when he maneuvered his baby onto the streets. Fortunately for Providence's population the streets were fairly empty in the morning and Dean had no trouble finding the hospital. Parking the car he forced himself to walk through the entrance instead of running.

The nurse at reception offered him a smile but for once Dean forewent flirting. Sammy came always first no matter what. Still, he could be polite.

“Hi, I got a call a few minutes ago saying that my brother was hospitalized here. His name is Sebastian Mulder.”  
   
“Mulder? As in Scully and Mulder?” she asked with a smile on her face as her fingers flew over the keys. Dean just hoped she was searching for Sam's file. He really was in no mood to flirt, so he settled for a brief nod.

“Found him,” the nurse, Clarice according to her name tag, announced, ”he was admitted last night and rushed into the ER with a crushed Larynx and second degree burns. It was a touch and go for a while but the surgery was successful. He was moved into critical care afterwards for observation. Early this morning his doctor declared him stable enough to occupy a normal room. He's in 324 now and his doctor is named John Philips. You might want to speak to him.”

Not that Dean wasn't grateful for the information but he had to wonder whether the nurses gave every visitor this kind of information. A chuckle pulled him from his thoughts. Clarice was watching him with an expression torn between amusement and indignation. Then she spoke, “No we don't give that kind of information to everyone. I was the one who called you and recognized your voice from the call and yes you said the last part aloud.”

Dean shrugged his shoulder, fighting the rush of heat that wanted to color his cheeks. He was rarely ashamed of anything he was doing and this was no different but at the same time he could understand being offended if someone would question his own work. The Winchesters were good hunters and he wouldn't allow anyone to say otherwise.

“Sorry Clarice, just worried you know?” He forced his lips to smile flirtatiously although he was for once not interested in the woman. But charming them was easy, even routine most of the time and Clarice smiled, her cheeks glowing red before she nodded in understanding.

“Take the elevator to the third floor, then go to the right and towards the end of the corridor. You should find the room with no problems.”

“Thanks sweetheart,” he said before making his way to the elevators. Pressing the button for the third floor he watched the young woman standing a few feet to his right. She wasn't paying him any mind more busy pulling wilting leaves from the flowers she held in her arms. Under different circumstances he would have flirted with her, she was just the type of woman he usually went for. Alas not with Sammy lying in a hospital bed.

The doors opened and the woman stepped out, hips swaying enticingly. Only seconds before the elevator closed again, did she turn to look at him with a clear come-hither look. In the next moment the doors were completely closed and Dean was alone. Pity, that had been a babe, he thought but no there were more important matters.

With a pinging sound Dean finally reached the third floor. Stepping out he looked around. All floor seemed to share the same layout. The nurse station was opposite the elevators and from that point four corridors extended into different directions. Fortunately he already knew where to go but beforehand he wanted to talk to that doctor. So the nurse station  next before he went to see the Sasquatch.

A guy a bit younger than him was sitting behind the desk and played if Dean saw correctly Solitaire. Real responsible the employes here. Clearing his throat he offered the man a pointed glare when the nurse finally deemed it right to look up.

“I'd like to speak to Dr. Philips please.”

The man glanced at him before dismissing him in some way. Dean welcomed the feeling of being deemed unimportant. Free clinic or not, there might come a time when he would need to break Sam out of this place. Combined with the robbery days prior being forgotten could only work to his advantage.

“He's doing his rou... ah there he is,” the guy said and pointed towards a man with short graying hair wearing dress pants, dress shirt and a red tie under a white lab coat. A stethoscope dangled around his neck and he was holding a small book in his hands, inside the breast pocket Dean could see a biro. Nodding his thanks at the nurse he headed straight for the man.

“Dr. Philips?” he asked as the man dismissed another nurse.

The man turned towards him and for a brief moment Dean could have sworn that his eyes had been pitch black. Immediately he was on his guard. He couldn't even begin to guess what a demon might be doing in a hospital but it couldn't be anything good.

Sam!

“And you are, young man?” came the question and Dean realized with relief that the demon had no idea it had been discovered. All the more advantages for him.

“Christian Kirk, I was told you treated my brother, Sebastian Mulder.”

Amicably like nothing was wrong he shook the doctor's and his suspicions only heightened as he felt the grip of the supposedly old man. Far too strong for a human being but Dean knew it wasn't the time yet. He could wait.

“..Mulder, ah yes,” he exclaimed, “the young man in 324. Correct I was the doctor on call when he and a mister Reynolds were admitted after a vicious fight. Youth these days Mr. Kirk, they even dare to lay hands of the man of the Lord.”

Dean had to hand it to the demon, it played its role admirably. Though he still had no idea why the demon was there in the first place. Patience was not a strong suit of his but he would have to reign the urges to banish the demon in until there weren't in public anymore.

“Yeah that's all well and good but what can you tell about my brother?”

The man frowned briefly, probably at being interrupted but Dean couldn't bring himself to care.

“Father Reynolds made the call to 911. Your  brother was admitted alongside him with potentially lethal injuries - a crushed larynx and second degree burns. He was lucky really, had the burns been any deeper we wouldn't have been able to do anything for him. Fortunately they weren't. In fact....” the doctor trailed off, seemingly deep in thought.

“What, in fact what?” Dean growled, the nerve of that guy.

The demon glanced at him before leading him into a room right next to the nurse station. A laboratory if Dean guessed correctly though there were a couple of filing cabinets. One of the cabinets seemed to be the demon's destination because it pulled a key out of one of the coats' pockets and unlocked the cabinet. After flipping through a few files it finally found what it was looking for -  his brother's file.

“The what is this...” and with that it pulled a few glossy photos from the file. Dean stared, gaped and stared some more. He was tempted to rub his eyes but refrained. It was something impossible he was seeing, something supernatural but how tell that the guy without outing him as a demon.

“As you can see, someone used something resembling a hand in shape to crush your brother's throat.“

The demon's finger trailed over the paper, following invisible lines Dean couldn't see and wasn't it disconcerting to see a snapshot of his brother's crushed neck. It was but even more so was the perfect imprint of a hand on his skin. Dean had seen burns before, had his own share of them but never before had he seen something like this. Red, puffy, thick and winding around Sam's crushed neck.

There's only one thing he could say for sure, “The hell!!”

Demon doctor offered him a toothy grin and he had to forcefully remind himself that he couldn't tip the monster off yet.

“I don't think hell has anything to do with this young man,” came the reply, ”however I can't tell what has done this. The force used to crush something like the larynx has to be immense as its natural protections work quite efficiently. Your brother was quite lucky really.”

Dean couldn't see anything on this photos that counted as luck. Another snapshot showed Sam's jaw and face which was colored with bruises though none of them matched the fist which had undoubtedly been clamped around his throat.

“I don't think getting your throat crushed would count as luck,” he snapped at the monster and his hand was already in the pocket of his jacket, the flask filled with Holy Water clenched between his fingers.

“No, and what if I told you that the only reason your brother survived the last night was that the burn was cauterized immediately upon contact with his skin, what if I told you that otherwise we wouldn't have been able to do anything for him...” demon trailed off before raising its voice again, “I would think that being alive and mute would still be better than being dead. Of course your brother will need skin draft around the neck...”

But Dean didn't hear anymore what the demon said, mind stuck on the word mute!

mute, mute, mute, mute...

“What do you mean mute?”

The demon had stopped talking and was looking at him with something Dean would call pity hadn't he known that he was dealing with a demon. But knowing it he couldn't identify the look and didn't try.

“Your brother's larynx was crushed Mr. Kirk. The vocal cords or vocal folds stretch across it and modulate the sounds made during speaking by vibrating. They were shredded, completely. Of course we tried to remodel them when we reconstructed your Mr. Mulder's throat and it is far too early to tell whether your brother's condition will be permanent. There might be a small chance that given enough time and proper treatment they will regenerate to some extent. However there will always be scarring and that will impact on your brother's ability to speak should he regain it.”

He nodded before sacking against the wall next to the table. The thought of Sammy never speaking again.. it would mean death to all his dreams. Dean knew Sam had never given up on returning to Stanford and finishing his degree but without voice... without voice that wouldn't be possible.

“Thanks doc,” he heard himself saying, “I want to see him now.”

“You do that young man. He is just down the corridor to the right, last door on the left. Though don't wonder if he won't react to your presence. We still have him on quite a dose of sedatives due to pain he would otherwise be in.”

The door closed behind him with a click and Dean couldn't remember how he got from the room with the demonic doctor to Sam's bedside. From the bed next to his brother's behind a curtain to afford some privacy he could hear muted voices but their words didn't register. His brother looked like shit, like someone had run him over with a truck. Hell he looked worse than Dean himself had when Dad had made the deal to save his life.

Sam's throat was encased in bandages and some kind of brace. Dean also recognized the respirator next to the bed and the rhythmic sounds of an ECG. He'd no idea what the numbers on the display aside from the fact that they were all green colored which he counted as something positive. One hand was wrapped with thick gauze, the fingers swollen and discolored.

“What the hell happened, Sammy?” he asked.

Not that he actually expected an answer, Sam was deeply unconscious after all. Then he noticed the voices he'd heard in the background had fallen silent. Turning around he came face to face with Father Reynolds lying on another hospital bed. The priest's leg was in a cast and propped up on the sheets. He looked at him like he had seen a ghost which come to think of it might be the truth.

“Yo Father,” Dean asked, “where's your visitor?”

The man turned to face him. His face was pale save for the pretty impressive shiner he sported on the left side. Otherwise he appeared unharmed. If Dean didn't know any better he would say the Father was nervous. Why?

“I just spoke with the Lord. What I've seen yesterday. I can't even begin to...”

No that was a lie if Dean ever heard one. Still he couldn't understand why the Father would lie. Still he didn't comment on it. There were more important issues to talk about, mainly how his brother had ended looking like he had gone rounds with Mike Tyson and lost spectacularly.

“Sam managed to lay the ghost to rest, didn't he?”

That got the Father's attention, his gaze finally met Dean's and he could see the shock there before the man composed himself.

“I... I administered the last rites. He-he is with the Lord now.”

Dean felt his eyebrows rise at the admission. Okay, not what he had expected but he could work with that, “Don't tell me Sam gave it the time to use you both as piñatas or threw you in front of a truck.”

The Father looked at him like he'd lost his mind for a few seconds and Dean nearly squirmed under the powerful gaze before he shook his head slowly.  

“No, no Gregory didn't do this...” then Father Reynolds trailed off, his body just went slack as the machine next to his bed went off. Like in slow-motion the rosary the Father  had wrapped around his fingers clattered to the ground as a shrill sound echoed through Dean's ears and suddenly the room was full of people. He was pushed outside, the door closed immediately and Dean stood alone in the empty hallway having no idea what just happened.

Then the door opened again and the bed Sam occupied was pushed out alongside with the IV and machines. The nurses paid him no attention so he simply followed as they directed his brother into another room. Once everything was set up they went to leave and only then Dean stopped them, “Wait, is the Father okay?”

The man - blond, probably in his forties - paused and studied him for a moment before shaking his head and answering, “Probably not.” Then he was gone and the younger brunette followed, closing the door as she did.

“What the hell is...” and Dean didn't get any further. A scream interrupted his thoughts before he could finish the current one. After making sure Sam was still sleeping peacefully, he opened the door and peered into the hallway. Another nurse was stumbling away from a door, the door leading to the filing room where the demon had shown him Sam's file.

“It's Dr. Philips!” she shrieked before her hands covered her mouth as she heaved. Stepping out of the room Dean mingled with the personnel who had gathered and stared inside the room. True enough the man laid on the floor eyes wide open, definitely dead and showed no sign of injury.

Dots connected and then he was pushing people out of the way and nearly kicked the door to Sam's room down. Not that anyone paid him attention, far too hung up over the death of one of their doctors.

Dean hated it when he was right.

There on the other side of Sam's bed stood someone, something. It couldn't be anything else but something supernatural because he had closed the door to Sam's room and would have noticed it opening even with the commotion surrounding him. Pulling the gun he always had on his person from the waistband of his jeans, he trained it on the thing.

“Get away from my brother!”

Of course the what-the-heck-it-was didn't react at all. It still stood at Sammy's bed, arms limply at the side, looking at him though Dean couldn't see its face. Then its head turned and blue eyes caught his own. If he hadn't been convinced that the thing was something supernatural, he would have been now. The gaze was unreal, intense and frightening all the same. Funny how inconspicuous the supernatural sometimes looked. Had he met this one on the street, he might have been tempted to ask for advice on taxes considering the striped dark dress pants, the matching jacket, the dark blue button down, the brown tie and a really ugly beige trench coat.

“You killed the doctor!”

It wasn't a question but the only possible explanation for what had happened. The being tilted its head to the side, doing an excellent copy of an owl before shrugging its shoulders.

“I killed the demon. The death of its host was unavoidable.”

Hearing that Dean froze and the grip on his gun tightened. It was impossible to kill demons with the exception of the Colt. What was he dealing with?

“What about Father Reynolds?” he snarled.

The accusation earned him a glare, but the monster made no move to attack him. Dean didn't know whether to be glad or actually fear for his life. Was it really a good idea to bait a being which could kill demons and wasn't the slightest bit intimidated by the gun in his hands.

“The Father is well and on his way to recovery. I believe the personnel will soon discover the tempering done to his medication by the deceased James Morrison Philips. Now I have more pressing matters to attend to. However....” the thing trailed of and glanced at Sam again. If Dean didn't know any better he would say it was actually puzzled.

“To find such strong faith in such an unlikely place...”

“Wha..” but before Dean could finish the question the monster touched Sam on his forehead. His brother's eyes snapped open, lips parted in a silent scream and his body arched off the bed. Reigning his initial reaction to fire in fear of hitting Sammy, Dean lowered his weapon before seeing to Sam. The pseudo tax accountant had disappeared and wasn't that a problem all on his own.

“Sam, Sammy! It's me. Stop it!”

It only took seconds to ascertain that it were the tubes bothering him and Dean acted without thinking. Gripping everything he tore it away until there was nothing left, bracing himself to see his brother's blood well up between the freshly sewn skin. Only there was no wound, no cut, nothing but the hand print he'd seen on the photos. Then he saw Sam's face and froze: The bruises were gone, the swelling, everything.

In fact Sam was looking at him, eyes still glazed over from sleep.

“De...”

“I'm here. Man couldn't you have waited before you challenged Mike Tyson! Don't talk, your throat was crushed a while ago.”

Naturally Sam offered him a beautiful bitch-face as reply and Dean had never been more glad to see it than now. Still he needed to know what had happened. Getting the worn down notepad from his pocket along with a pen, he handed them to Sam. Luckily his brother could still write.

“Who did this to you, Sammy?” he asked.

Sam looked at him then at the notepad before he began to write. It looked even shoddier than it usually did but Dean had years of experience in deciphering that particular scrawl. His brother wrote one word...

ANGEL

“Saam, really. Haven't we already established that it can't have be...”  

He was interrupted as Sam dropped the pen and got hold of his t-shirt and pulled him forward until they were face to face. Brown-green eyes met his own green ones and Dean didn't need to see the rest of Sammy's face to know that he was dead serious.

“Seriously, cross your heart and hope to die?”

Sam only nodded and released Dean before he laid back. He looked worn out and Dean forcefully reminded himself that only minutes ago Sam had been in danger of remaining mute forever. Idiot. He should have remembered.

“Okay, if you say so. Then I'll go and do a bit of research on angels..”

Yet before he could leave, Sam tucked at his jacket and showed him the notepad again. He'd written another word underneath the first.

TWO  

Dean gulped.

“Okay Sammy, thanks for the heads-up.”

Then he left. Noting the number of police officers, he wisely took the stairs before escaping over a fire-escape. Well after quickly disabling the alarm system. No need for them to know he was there.

Walking into the parking lot he frowned, where could he get information about angels except the internet before nearly hitting himself. Of course, who had been present when Sam had been attacked by this angel? Father Reynolds! And where did the priest work?

In a church.

Hadn't he shown them a painting of one of the dicks? He would bet his baby he would find information there.

The streets around the church were oddly devoid of life and Dean couldn't help but shiver. Everything about the whole place gave him the creeps. Yesterday he hadn't felt like this.

“Too late now,” he whispered to himself.

Popping the lid of the trunk open he grabbed additional silver ammo, another shotgun and a machete. He had no idea whether they would be working against an angel but better somewhat prepared that not at all. Ensuring that he wasn't seen he walked up the steps and stopped. Dean could hear noises behind the heavy door. Someone was already there.  
On second thought the side door at the back of the church would serve just as well.

The door was unlocked and he cursed the Father's carelessness. Though given how the angel had vanished from Sam's hospital, a locked door wouldn't have made a difference.

“Time to face the party.”

Closing the door behind himself, Dean waited a moment to accustom his eyes to the poor lighting conditions before he moved forward. Now the sound of fighting was much clearer. Pressing himself against the wall he peered around the corner into the next room -  it was empty. So the fighting was taking place in the main part of the church.

Moving from wall to wall he neared the sounds of fighting, when the wall he was pressing against shook. His instincts screamed at him and he threw his body across the room and crawled under a broken bookcase. The stones in the wall shook again before beginning to crack and crumble to the floor.

What the fuck is that?!

Crawling forward he looked into the main hall of the church. It looked like a typhoon had blown through it. The pews were turned over or smashed. Not a single candleholder was still standing, burning candles shrewn around the hall and the walls sported man-shaped holes. Then he saw them, near the center of the room -  the pseudo tax accountant and a man who could have been a gorilla in his former life. Both figures were rapidly exchanging punches.

With wide eyes Dean watched as the gorilla took hold of an old iron chandelier and smashed the tax accountant with it. Okay definitely no demons, the inches thick arms of the heavy chandelier apparently had done nothing to the thing. It merely spat some blood onto the ground before pushing his hand forward. Like commanded three of the pews flew at the man, hit him and smashed him into the next wall.

Grunting the man extracted himself, dusted the rumble from his suit and began to speak, “Is that all you have Castiel? Is this,” its hands encompassed the hall, “what Heaven has to offer to bring me down. Me - the destroyer of Soddom and Gomorrah?!”

The tax accountant - Castiel? - merely loosened his tie as he answered, “Pride is a sin Uriel. You would do well not to fall victim to it.”

Gorilla - Uriel - laughed before he suddenly stood in front of Castiel and punched him. The shorter angel? flew backwards but flipped over halfway and landed on his feet before he, too, vanished from sight. Appearing over the gorilla he smashed both fists down onto the man's unprotected back before vanishing again. Uriel grunted as he stumbled but otherwise made no move to protect himself. The other angel? Appeared right next to Dean's hiding place. However he refrained from shooting the thing. Clearly they were enemies and while he was sure he had to kill them both, it was far smarter to wait until only one was left standing. Then Uriel was speaking again and did the bastard never get tired of hearing his own voice.

“You should have joined me brother. Together we would have accomplished many great miracles.”

Castiel didn't appear to be impressed if his vehement response was anything to go by, “The apocalypse is nothing miraculous and you'd do well to remember that.”

Dean refrained from rolling his eyes. The apocalypse? Yeah, he had some real nutcases on his hands, alright. And didn't that bastard get tired of laughing.

“Your ignorance is amusing Castiel. Even as we speak are the forces of Hell and Heaven working tirelessly on preparing everything for the coming of Paradise. The only question is, brother, will you be one of Lucifer's generals or will you die here?”

Now that seemed to have gotten Castiel's attention and who the fuck had named the two. Brothers? With different mothers and fathers maybe?

“You lie!” he roared and Dean saw the lights in the lamps explode, glass splintered and he instinctively ducked as the shards rained down upon them.

“No Castiel, I don't and we both know it. Why do you think the Righteous man is still in Hell? Why have we not been given orders to raise him? The first seal is after all the most important!”

The dark skinned being had come very close, they were almost touching now, “Because they want him to break it, to free Lucifer.” The large hands came up to cradle the Castiel's face with a gentleness Dean hadn't expected. Their forehead touched and they couldn't looked more like day and night if they had tried. One with dark skin while the other was fair skinned, the broad shoulders against a slim build, cold brown eyes against electric blue ones and no hair to a dark brown mop.

The dark skinned one, Uriel, whispered something and hadn't Dean been so close he might never have heard him, “So where is your God now, Castiel? I'll tell you there is no God anymore!”

Both moved with speed Dean's eyes couldn't follow. Suddenly there was a shiny oversized toothpick in Uriel's hands and was stopped only inches in front Castiel's heart. Blood welled between the fingers clenching the toothpick. Then Uriel was thrown through the hall and landed in a heap of smashed pews. Castiel was panting and more blood dripped down his mouth, “You're wrong, God exists because I'm here, because he gave me my command by the way of Joshua. You will no longer interfere with humanity.”

“I wondered why you didn't strike the tall one down Castiel. An abomination like him even among the mud-monkeys. Or did you pity him, the son of the Righteous man?..”

A shot cut the speech off and Dean needed a second to realize that he had actually pulled the trigger. But that bastard had talked about Sam, about killing as casually as one might talk about the weather. With a short motion he reloaded the rifle. Peering around the corner he frowned. The shot had been exceedingly well placed, right in the heart to be precise but the thing didn't seem bothered by it, amused but not bothered.

“Another mud-monkey. Such pathetic creatures you want to protect. Disgusting!”

Suddenly the gorilla stood in front of him, a fist closed around his throat and lifted him off his feet. Heat was spreading over the skin where Uriel was touching him and Dean didn't doubt for a moment that Sam had got exactly the same treatment from the bastard. Loosening one of his hands, he got hold of the machete and stabbed him in the neck with the same result as with the shotgun. The bastard even had the nerve to laugh.

Then he was free again, his body hit the ground, gasping for air and he felt a searing pain shoot up his wrist. Great, that one was probably broken. Looking to his right he could see that the two beings were fighting again. The suit Uriel wore was stained on his back with some kind of silvery liquid or was it light, he couldn't really tell.

It was different from their fight before, the atmosphere had changed. Dean didn't doubt for a moment that one of them would die.

Uriel seemed to try and regain hold of the toothpick but at last moment Castiel retreated. The brunet's leg came up and he kicked the bastard squarely in the chest, sending him flying against the wall. Simultaneously a candle started to move from the right. Flames ignited and suddenly a perfect ring of fire had surrounded Uriel with little room to move.

Castiel by now bleeding profusely from some of the gashes he had gained, stood and stared at his brother for a moment. His last for words for Uriel rather simple, “Goodbye brother.”

The shiny weapon flew and hit the man right in the heart where moments ago the gunshot wound had been, before it had disappeared that is. The toothpick, probably some kind of blade, stayed stuck and Dean instinctively closed his eyes as light began to spill from eyes and mouth of the bastard. When he opened them again, the thing was dead. Its body sacked against the wall, the flames having gone out, but what caught Dean's eye were shadows which extended from the body. One on each side, a perfect symmetry and if he didn't know any better he would say they were wings.

The other being, Castiel, stood in front of the body, the weapon back in hand. Then it turned to him and stared. Dean got the feeling it did it a lot. When it walked towards him, Dean froze and he couldn't move a muscle. Not even when two fingers touched his forehead. Suddenly he could breathe again and the pain in his wrist had disappeared, too.

“Thanks,” he muttered and examined his wrist.

“Given that Uriel injured your brother as well as yourself I thought it adequate to take care of the injuries you received at his hands.”

No, Dean wouldn't ask how he knew that. Instead he collected his shotgun and the machete which still stuck in the stomach of that dick.

“So who are? What are you?” he asked to escape the silence. For some reason the being which still stared at him made him uncomfortable in ways he couldn't explain. Those blue eyes didn't blink and Dean couldn't see any sort of breathing movement, only enforcing the other impression of something supernatural.

“My name is Castiel and I'm an angel of the Lord.”

He had to clamp down on the urge to scream, “Bullshit, there is no such a thing as angels.” But refrained, remembering Sam's words written on an old notepad.

“Yeah right, what does an angel do on earth aside from telling innocent believers to kill people. Don't you have to fluff clouds or some other shit to do?”

“Angels are warriors of God. We do not fluff clouds. As for Uriel, he broke with Heaven's ranks and is no longer one of my brothers.”

Dean snorted at that, “Yeah alright. You certainly do some smiting. What would God think, if he knew that you flattened his church?”

Then the church was spotless again, looking exactly like yesterday when they had visited Father Reynolds. Hell even the ugly print of archangel Michael looked like new.

“You should take your brother and leave, Dean Winchester. If what Uriel said is true, then it might not be a good idea to be under Heaven's watch at the moment.”

With that the angel strode out of the church's front door and Dean followed, “Wait, do you mean that jabbering about the Apocalypse. Don't tell me you believe that.”

Castiel stopped and Dean almost ran into him. However instead of stepping away, Castiel only came closer until they were sharing the same air. Well if the angel would breathe that is.

“I confess I must. John Winchester, the Righteous man, resides in Hell. Should he break on the rack the Apocalypse will be imminent. It is unusual that we have not been called to save him.”

Dean forewent his attempts to gain a bit more room the second his father's name was mentioned, “What does dad have to do with all of this?”

Instead of answering Castiel tapped his forehead again. They stood in their motel room where Sam was just about to get dressed. The second he noticed them, he screamed and his towel fell down. Dean immediately covered his eyes because he seriously didn't need to see that while the angel stared again.

“Jesus bitch, cover yourself will you. Scaring an angel for life might be a sin.”

“Jerk, how did you get here anyway?”

Dean jerked an hand in the direction he knew Castiel to be and answered, “Angel air.”

Now that Sam had knotted his towel again he realized that they weren't alone. Offering his hand to Castiel he smiled, “You saved my life yesterday. Thank you. I'm Sam Winchester.”

Watching them both like a hawk Dean waited until Castiel had actually taken Sam's hand -  which took a moment - and introduced himself too. Of course that sent Sam into blissful hysterics because a real angel. And no, Dean didn't miss the smug smile his little brother shot him.

“So what does dad have to do with the Apocalypse?” At least Sam was finally quiet.

“When the Righteous man spills blood in Hell, the first seal set on Lucifer's cage will open and the path to his revival may begin. It is my belief that Uriel attempted to destroy such a seal by having God's faithful followers shed innocent blood.”

Sam had actually sat down and Dean could just see the impatience in his frame. He longed to ask questions. Castiel continued without acknowledging Sam, “There is only one possible solution to ensure the safety of earth and humanity.”

Cue Sammy and his questions, “How could we do that?”

The being looked at them and just like in the church Dean was reminded that they were speaking with something far more powerful than themselves. When he spoke it sounded easy, but Dean knew it would be anything but.

“Raise John Winchester from Hell before he breaks...”

_Well fuck...._

 

****_fin_


End file.
